Trouble Is Everywhere

I wanted to chat a bit about what it is I do all day as a PhD Year 1 in history. Because, you know, I want to. And I have a journal. And people get curious.

( it has photos! and is long )

Anyway, that's generally what I do. It's not terribly exciting, except for the bit where it totally is. If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

ETA: It occurred to me that I could have replaced everything above with this:



Buffy: I'm starting to think this working hard is hard work.

Willow: Isn't it crazy like that?

Buffy: I thought it was gonna be like in the movies -- you know, inspirational music, a montage: me sharpening my pencils, me reading, writing, falling asleep on a big pile of books with my glasses all crooked, 'cause in my montage, I have glasses. But real life is slow, and it's starting to hurt my occipital lobe.

Willow: Aw, poor Buffy's brain.

I am so very very very very very stressed about PhD applications. All I can think of is getting that tiny little "Thank you for your application but you are a terrible student and should give up on academia because you are incompetent" letter. Oh brain, you are so awesome, thank you.

I keep reminding myself that one of the professors at York actually wants to work with me, and the other two I talked to were very interested in my work, as was the person I talked to at McGill. I remind myself that I got into Dal on less. I remind myself that Dr T and Dr B would both tell me if they thought I wasn't worth writing letters of reference for, and both have been very encouraging. And yet, the failure brigade in my brain is doing a great job of drowning out the logic.

Okay, so, despite my brain doing its normal "you are a failure who will never do anything with your life you stupid person you" thing, I actually managed to write a good 1300 words today, and by that I mean an actual good 1300 words today as opposed to my usual dreck. I think this latest draft will actually be the one that goes someplace other than dead fish land. I'm very happy about that. I've also added a bunch of notes at the end so I remember what I wanted to add in at that point, which is great. It's nice to end because I know what I want to say rather than because I am just sitting there in helpless sadness.
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There's a ghost in this picture, can you find it?

I was checking a date on Wikipedia and discovered that - shocking! - there is wrong information on Wikipedia about the foundation of the CNIB. And then I realised that in all my reading I hadn't actually seen anything official about the relationship between Halifax and the foundation of the CNIB. And then I realised I really want to write a paper on the foundation of the CNIB. (I mean, seriously - the Dictionary of Canadian Biography online has a good bio of Fraser but somehow fails to mention that he basically pulled a lot of strings on the CNIB, as the initial Board of 13 members had 7 alumni from the Halifax Asylum for the Blind. The letters... Oh, internets, the letters I have to and from Fraser are just goldmines that apparently no one else has looked at since they were sorted, and that is both a crime and a golden opportunity for me!)

Of course, I really want to do it because Wikipedia is RONG RONG RONG and I want to fix it, and I can't do that with unpublished sources at the Nova Scotia Archives. I must, obviously, write and publish something. The sooner the better.

(As I said on twitter earlier - right thing to do! wrong reasons to do it! Ah well, whatever gets words on pages, right?)

I still also need to get my sweet self out to Fredericton, NB, because the official description of the Deaf fonds out there is not terrible illuminating and merely hints at more Dire Things having gone on when The Principal Formerly Known As Principal 2 (Woodbridge) left the Halifax Institution and went there to start a school.

In 1883 the Institution was destroyed by fire, but the next year a new structure was built on the old site, which, in turn, fell victim to the flames in 1897. For the next five years, the school was located in Old Government House. A commission, headed by Jeremiah H. Barry, was established in 1902 to investigate the finances and administrative practices of the school. The commission reported that Principal Woodbridge had mixed his own finances with those of the school and that the Institution's debts were nearly double its assets. In addition, students testified before the commission that they had been physically and emotionally abused by teachers and administrators. In December 1902 Principal A. F. Woodbridge resigned his post, and soon after government officials closed the school's doors.

For example, this somehow fails to mention that the fire was allegedly set by either Woodbridge or one of the rival schools in New Brunswick (there was a thing), and also fails to mention someone in the New Brunswick Legislature fiercely defending Woodbridge from allegations so heinous as to not be mentionable in the Legislature, while assuring everyone that the girl in question was probably lying and anyway she left. Nothing suspicious there at all.

Anyway, the latest draft of my SSHRC has been sent off to Dr. T & Dr. B., so hopefully they will work their editing magic it on it. (Or, even better, it will not need editing magic! But that is unlikely.)

Woke up this morning with very sore hands (I don't know why), and very late (I also don't know why), and with three thesis-related emails:( waaaa thesis )

Oh! disabledparents: "If you are a parent with disabilities, a child of a disabled parent, a disabled person thinking of becoming a parent or if you just think this would be the right place to be."

Let us speak of pleasant things!

[Random fact: I've got "I need you now", [YouTube] which was a power ballad in the 80s, stuck in my head because of the line "It's still haaaaaaaaard at 6 o'clock in the morning... to dream without you". As it is was 6 a.m. when I started this post [four days ago]. Yes, I'm deep. Like a puddle.]

I've had a couple of great instances lately to talk about my thesis in a non-academic setting, which reminded me how much I do love what I'm doing and how interesting it all is. Seriously, putting aside politics and big fancy academic ways of saying "other" and all that jazz, my thesis is about some really nifty people doing some really nifty things, and I love it to pieces. [I think I've talked about almost all of this before, but it's fun.]

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Ta dum! Give me an MA, I'm awesome.